


Late to the Party

by gaslightgallows (hearts_blood)



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Introspection, Sexual Fantasy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-27
Updated: 2016-10-27
Packaged: 2018-08-27 08:40:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8394946
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hearts_blood/pseuds/gaslightgallows
Summary: Phryne's having a party downstairs. Upstairs, Jack waits...





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [CollingwoodGirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/CollingwoodGirl/gifts).



> It’s not _the_ thing, but it’s _a_ thing. ;) Happy birthday!

The moment that Phryne, wrapped in a cloud of gold lamé and diamonds, draped herself about his person and kissed him in front of her assembled Bright Young Houseguests as though determined to claim him as her own belonging in this strange and foreign land, he knew she had been drinking absinthe.

“Sorry, Jack,” she giggled, when he made a face, “I know you hate aniseed.”

“I do, but at least it comes with compensation.” He struggled to make himself heard over the clamour of whoops and hollers that their performance elicited, so instead of trying, he kissed Phryne again, to similar effect, and then pressed his lips close to her ear. The perfume she’d dabbed there this morning lingered, filling his head with the familiar mingled scents of Jicky and sweat. “How long is this circus going to be here?”

Phryne laughed. “Until they collapse.”

“Well, I’m about to collapse, myself. I’ll be upstairs if you get bored.” He nipped her earlobe lightly for good measure and then hurried up the stairs of Phryne’s London townhouse.

Once safe in the bedroom, Jack allowed himself to relax. He undid the black bowtie at his throat and let out a long, tired sigh. It had been a good night out with his Scotland Yard colleagues, but London was too much city for him, even for a boy born and bred in the heart of Melbourne, and having to play the ‘civilized colonial’ all the time was _exhausting_. Not with Parker, Parker was a good egg, but with practically everyone else in London…

Jack yawned, and then grimaced. The memory of Phryne’s tongue against his was always pleasant, but the taste of absinthe lingered, and he went to clean his teeth.

Phryne was _not_ waiting for him, naked on the bed or in any other fashion, when he returned, which was disappointing but unsurprising. She genuinely enjoyed this sort of bean-feast, after all. Ah well, to each their own. He loved her all the more for not trying to drag him into her life of glitz and glamour. Family parties, yes. Society charity balls, of course. But except for the professional and private places where their paths converged, they led scrupulously separate lives. That was prudent of them, hard-hearted plain common sense. 

But it also worked. And the fact that they had found something that _worked_ , for _them_ …

Jack’s blood effervesced like champagne, and he laughed, long and loud and giddily. “As merry as a schoolboy, as giddy as a drunken man,” he misquoted happily, and stripped off his tuxedo and everything underneath. No fear that the guests or the staff would hear him – he could hardly hear himself over the blaring jazz music coming from below – was there actually a live jazz band playing downstairs? He almost wondered…

Phryne might hear him, though, noise or no noise. She was good at tuning in to his moods. 

He disdained his pyjamas entirely and flopped down naked on the bed, wallowing shamelessly on the satin and velvet and cool crisp linen like a spoiled cat… a habit, he knew, he had picked up from Phryne. He was not a wallower by nature. 

There were other habits she had passed on to him, as well. Her love of lingering in bed in the morning. The pleasures of a cognac before bed. The pleasures of oneself before bed… 

He settled back more comfortably against the splendor of overstuffed satin pillows and closed his eyes. From downstairs, the rhythm and beat of the music filtered up, quieting the effervescence in his veins and replacing it with a steadier pulse. 

Jack moaned softly and pressed his hands down his torso. 

Phryne was downstairs, brighter than all the Bright Young Things in her corona of gold and diamonds, holding court, a queen without a crown, perhaps, but with a devoted knight errant, one who waited for her, yearning, straining into his own hands. 

His cock throbbed with the beat of the drum – or perhaps the music was all in his head now… surely that little taste of absinthe that he’d sipped from Phryne’s lips couldn’t be having _this_ much of an effect on him… The Green Fairy… how he loved it when Phryne wore green… especially the new-leaf-green sheath she’d worn that day at the Grand, when he’d held her in his arms, truly, for the first time… it was the only time he had felt as though he was making a claim on her, but the truth was that they had staked their claim on each other that day.

_You’re always in my arms…_

His fingers and palms were callused and hard, scraping over his torso and his stomach and the ridges of muscle over his hips, but his cock he left alone. He wanted to touch himself, but he wanted her to touch him more. In the year Phryne had spent in Melbourne, Jack had masturbated all of once, because from the moment he shook her hand, his own felt inadequate and wrong. And once they had finally made love, there was no going back. 

So he didn’t touch himself the way he wanted to, just lay there writhing on increasingly slippery satin and waited for Phryne. He didn’t mind; he was far more patient than she was. He knew she’d get bored of the party eventually, now that he was home, and he knew she would like the sight that greeted her when she finally joined him…

Jack didn’t hear the bedroom door open, but he heard the soft click of the latch as it shut again, and the harder sound of the bolt being thrown. He opened his eyes to find Phryne watching him with hungry adoration. “I got bored,” she announced unnecessarily. “I hope I’m not too late?”

Jack grinned, and without meaning to, licked his lips. Phryne’s eyes were suddenly ablaze with green fire, and she pounced on him, kissing him as though she was starved for him. 

“Too late?” Jack growled when he could get a breath in. “Oh no… this party’s just getting started.” 

The gold lamé shredded under his hands.


End file.
